


Gastown Crashers

by ahimsabitches



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: But there are lots of booms, Explosions, Gastown, Other, There is no sex in this, crossover AU, implied junkrat/peeps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the grand prize for the giveaway I'm running over on Tumblr! Tyellas requested something set in Gastown, and I couldn't help but include me favorite Junkerboys! I hope you like it!</p><p>Warnings for lots of booms and violence. No sex, no explicit gore. Gore and blood implied. Basically what you'd expect from two unhinged Junkers and a giant oil refinery with a gladiatorial pit in its guts.</p><p>Guest starring my OC Frayja! (read about her in my story "The Viper in the Garden" or under the "30 days of fic" tag on my tumblr: @lioness-hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gastown Crashers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/gifts).



Jamie strained against Hog's hook anchoring him to the sidecar and opened his mouth to the hot wind that blew past him. Cackling gleefully at the feeling of his cheeks inflating with air, he marveled at just how easy it'd been to convince the drongos at his back that they, Jamie and Hog, had been the-- what was that word-- _emissaries_ , chosen by some snooty pair of shoulderpads styling herself Auntie Entity (now if _that_ wasn't a ripper he didn't know _what_ was) to haul this payload to Gastown.  
  
And what a fucking _payload_ it was: books, a rusty but whole industrial MIG welder (complete with two acetylene tanks!), reclaimed parts from the omnium, a bushel and then some of fresh produce, another bushel of what Jamie took to be either homespun cloth or dead things (either way the bags were _heavy_ ) and, wonder of bloody wonders, _pigs_.  
  
He giggled to himself again and glanced at Roadhog, who rode rocked back and eyes-front, his great arms splayed on the handlebars and his belly riding proudly out in front of him.  
  
_Pigs_! Whole and live and bloody _five_ of them, grunting and flapping their ears and staring down from the truck with suspicious black eyes.  
  
Making the joke had been almost too easy, but he couldn't help himself. Hog had endured Jamie's crowed jabs about his _cousins_ with his usual silent stoicism, offering a grunt every now and then that only sent Jamie into fresh gales of sidesplitting laughter.  
  
But that was as behind them as the real emissaries they'd left hooked and torched in their room. What lay ahead of them was an oil-dark mountain of warped steel and gouting fire, a _wound_ on the rolling skin of the desert that reeked smoke instead of pus. Jamie stood up as far as Hog's hook would allow him and gaped at the towering mess of steel. It was a place after his own heart: fire spewing from orifices both metal and earthen, soot and oilstink hanging over everything like a vast, saggy umbrella.  
  
"Now there's a _pretty sight_ ," he yelled at Hog, and the wind tore the words jealously from his mouth. The drongos behind them slowed as Hog slowed the chopper. There was another bike which completed the front guard, then the rickety pickup with the pig crates, and behind that, a truck full of the rest of the load. Behind that, the empty tanker which they'd get filled nice and full with Auntie's shipment of guzz and then promptly _steal_ , and behind the tanker was the rear guard: two no-chinned mooks with two eyes and two ears between them. This heist would be almost too easy. But fun. And that's what really mattered after all.  
  
Jamie whooped. "I like this place already, Hoggy!"  
__

They crossed into Gastown under watchful eyes and over a clanking metal bridge which stretched over a reeking lake of black filth that even Mako had to wrinkle his nose at. The air stunk even through his mask, which wasn't any great shakes at filtration, but it was better than nothing. Everyone here, it seemed, from the guards at the watchtower to the denizens gathering on the landing before them as they rolled to a sedate stop, wore black-eyed masks. He glanced at Jamie, already gesticulating wildly at a masked man that Mako took to be their liaison. He thought briefly of strapping his mask to Jamie's face, but it would stay on about as long as it took Jamie to find something to steal, which was less than a blink.  
  
Mako heaved himself off the bike and joined Jamie, prepared to play his part.  
  
"...ain't just lettin' ya sod off with our merchandise, _mate_. Auntie has _rules_. Y'fill up that tanker all nice and full-like, and then we'll show ya our _goods_." Jamie drew his pointed tongue across his grinning fangs.  
  
They would hold here until the tanker was full, then bolt. Simple, but any dipstick with half a brain could figure that out.  
  
Mako glanced at the drivers, laboriously turning their vehicles in the too-small plain of the gateway, ostensibly to back them in for easy unloading. Mako glanced at the sun, reduced to a bleary circle of tarnished silver under the greasy haze of oil.  
  
The masked man crossed his bare arms over his broad chest. "The Big Boss don't see nobody unless they have an appointment, _mate_ , so you can either let us do our jobs or we can kill you and then do our jobs."  
  
Mako stepped between Jamie and the masked man as the latter and the three men by him pulled their guns.  
  
Though Mako could see nothing of the man's face behind his slope-nosed mask, he could see fear in the set of his shoulders and the grip of his fist, and in the others too. The guns in their hands were nothing but jumped-up .22s. The bullets would sting if they shot him and not much else. And they all knew it. Jamie giggled.  
  
Mako followed the masked man through the throbbing guts of Gastown. Machinery-- oil pumps and refineries, he guessed-- thrummed and pulsed unseen but Mako very much felt them thumping and vibrating through his boots. Pipes wormed sinuously, _sensually_ , in undulating bunches along the wall, pumping lifeblood black and thick to the capillaries of Gastown and beyond. Mako briefly wondered where the massive iron heart of Gastown was, but when he found it he realized it was not an iron heart but a _flesh_ one: the Thunderdome.  
  
He couldn't help but hike a hoary eyebrow behind his mask as they passed the fighting pits, alight with flame-red blood and drowned in wave after wave of a many-throated scream, at once victorious, anguished, and dying. He suppressed a shiver as a movie-reel of memories surfaced on the breaking wave of that sound: his fellows, his men, his _brothers_ , fighting the fall of the world, fighting the Omnics, dying with that bellow rattling their lungs and triumph/terror in their eyes.  
  
Jamie ripped Mako from his memories with a ragged whoop. He caught the rip-tire strapped to Jamie's back an instant before the gangly idiot leapt over the railing to join the bloodbath.  
  
"Okay but let me drop a toepopper _comeonHogletmedropjustone!_ "  
  
Mako huffed and yanked Jamie along and listened to his howls and endless chatter. They endured wary pauses from the masked denizens of Gastown as they passed, and if anyone offered more than that, Mako thumbed the holster of his scrap gun and the men melted back into the humming, pungent dimness.  
  
Up and up they climbed; the walls worming with humming pipes closed in on them, but the air was purer up here. Their black-masked liaison left them at the top landing of the last stair without a word and disappeared around a corner. The two junkers glanced at each other, then down the short hallway. Jamie shrugged, took two _tnk-tmp tnk-tmp_ steps and nearly had his ear shot off. The report of the rifle was deafening in what amounted to a vertical steel drum.  
  
"That was your only warning," the maskless woman barked at them from the other end of the hall. Mako blinked. She must have been hidden in an alcove. He stepped in front of Jamie; reached for his scrapgun. She cocked the bulky shotgun in her hands. "Don't try it, big boy," she snarled.  
  
There wouldn't be any _try_ to it, not when she'd almost turned Jamie's skull into a meat salad. The red haze of murder slowly settled on his brain.  
  
"S'cuse me, miss, can I speak to your manager?" Jamie asked, peeking around Mako's massive flank.  
  
A door creaked open on the woman's right. An authoritative voice, thick but smooth, spoke: "Stand down, Frayja. If they made it this far, they clearly have something important to say."  
  
The woman was still for a moment, lowered her rifle, then disappeared into the room.  
  
"Come in, gentlemen," the voice said.  
__

The thought sprang unbidden to Richard as his two visitors entered, the bigger one ducking and twisting sideways to get in: _Jack Sprat and his wife_. He hid a small smile behind his hand and gestured to the two chairs before the great mahogany spread of his desk.  
  
"My name is Richard. Please, sit. I'm afraid I don't have a seat big enough for you, my good man." He inclined his head at the massive boulder of a man with, of all things, a cartoon _pig_ tattooed on his vast belly and a mask with a snout that was distinctly _hoggish_. Richard felt an utterly useless but powerful burst of jealousy: _why didn't I think of that?_  
  
"Oi, this drongo's nothin' but another _suit_!" the smaller one barked, squatting instead of sitting in his chair, smearing his oily boot all over the upholstery and ripping threads with the scuffed peg of his other leg. Richard curled his lip, refocused. The man was smaller, yes, than his masked companion, but still taller than Richard himself. What did they feed their children out in...  
  
Richard steepled his fingers against his mouth and leaned back in his chair.  
  
"But he's got his nips speared jus' like you, Hoggy! We oughtta get you one o' those chains!" The wiry man shoved his mismatched hands up under his companion's shoulder armor and gave his tits a healthy squeeze.  
  
_Junkertown_. They were from Junkertown; _had_ to be, with the slapdash kit and equipment they toted.  
  
"An' his nose-bit looks kinda piggish, don't it?" The wiry man poked the mask's upturned nose.  
  
Since when did Auntie contract with _Junkertown_?  
  
He narrowed his eyes.  
  
The skinny one hung on the big one and prattled about the gross unprofessionality and rudeness of Richard's men, about Auntie's rules (since when did she have those beyond Barter for Barter?), and demanded of Richard a full guzzoline tanker before any of Auntie's goods were exchanged. And then Richard understood.  
  
The big one stood silent behind his mask and hooked his thumbs into his coveralls on either side of his gleaming metal codpiece, stirring uncomfortable ripples in Richard's mind of the Colonel.  
  
Later, Richard would consider him and deem him the younger, fitter result of a combined cloning of himself and the Colonel. And perhaps Scrotus, god damn his soul.  
  
"Gentlemen," Richard opened his hands. "I have good news and bad news. Bad news first: whatever sleight-of-hand you're planning with my guzzoline and Auntie's goods will, unfortunately, not play out to your benefit. I'm not sure how you highjacked Auntie's supply shipment, but you will find me a sight more vigilant than whatever witless souls you either paid or killed to end up here."  
  
He let that hang in the air. Though the big man said nothing, Richard doubted seriously the young man with the singed blonde hair was the brain of the operation. At least not the _whole_ brain. It was to the big man's impassive masked face Richard spoke next: "The good news is that if you're looking for contraband to sell on the pitiful excuse for a black market in Junkertown, you need look no further than my own storage vaults. But," he held up a finger, "my generosity has a price. You both have... skills, I surmise, that I could put to very good use. Work for me, and your payment will be an appropriate portion of Gastown's wealth, with which you may do as you please."  
  
What the junkers didn't know, and what he wouldn't tell them, was that between Auntie, the (secret) selectmen of Junkertown, and himself, they had a near-constant finger on the arteries connecting the three outposts, both blue and red, and whatever these junkers sold or stole would make its way back to him eventually. He indulged himself with a little smile and fingered his tit. Either way, he'd come out of this with both his guzzoline and Auntie's goods, and Auntie would, hopefully, not be the wiser.  
__

For a suit, this bloke wasn't all bad. Cute, in a prissy kind of way; especially the way he fretted with his nips and made that pretty little peachrang jingle. And _shrewd_ , Jamie had to admit. The bastard had sniffed them out almost instantly. Plan Bs and Cs and Ds, down to Zs, chased each other like yapping dogs through his mind, but they scattered before the one thing looming large in the horizon behind his eyes as it had reared up over the desert: Gastown itself. It was made of steel and fire and guzz and everything Jamie loved and by _crikey_ it was just begging to be _lit up._

If they couldn't have their guzz, they weren't leaving Gastown without heisting something, and Jamie decided he'd have the pigs.  
  
Because how could you pass up those cute little whuffling noses? And the grand haul of _cash_ they'd bring-- all but one; they had to keep one; Jamie had already named it Tulip-- back at Junkertown.  
  
He vaulted off the chair and pulled on Hog's trunklike arm. "Walk with me, Hoggy."  
\--

The black-haired woman standing half-cocked like her rifle in the corner of the room was blind, Mako realized with a start. Instead of looking at them, she had her white-filmed eyes averted and her ear trained on them instead. Mako felt very much pinned between Richard's keen eyes and the woman's keen ears. Jamie tugged his arm and he turned obligingly, covering the distance between the chair and the wall in two strides, leaning down so Jamie could whisper in his tufted ear.  
  
"I wouldn't mind gettin' me hands on some o' that loot, mate," Jamie said, and let the very clear _but_ dangle like a hooked fish between them. "Maybe this is our chance to go legit? For real this time?"  
  
In the language Mako and Jamie had developed below words, they held a very different conversation.  
  
Mako nodded his head toward the door. _Bail?_  
  
Jamie squinched his face. _Nah, mate._  
  
Mako grunted. _I'm not working for him._  
  
Jamie grinned. _Not planning to. Follow my lead._ "You're right, Hoggy ol' Hog," Jamie turned and said, loud enough for the whole floor to hear him, "it's a generous offer, but a suit's a suit, and we don't get on too well with suits." He tipped Richard a salacious wink. "At least not while the suit's still _on_."  
  
Mako rolled his eyes under his mask and pulled Jamie toward the door.  
\--

Shrewd as the suit may have been, he really should have known better than to send a bloody _blind_ woman as their escort, as savvy (and angry!) as she was. Gastown begged for _fire,_ and her leader had let Jamie off his leash.  
  
Concussion mines. Delayed detonation. Depth charges, tossed down this pipe and that laddered shaft. Toepoppers wedged into the corrugated steel. Jamie made it _rain_ as they walked, nearly emptying his pockets and bags, biting his lip to bleeding to keep from giggling his fool head off.  
  
Two concussion mines went sailing like frisbees into the Thunderdome, that glorious pit of blood and melee which was, sadly, lacking a dynamic duo of one Jamison M. Fawkes and one Mako Whatever Rutledge. But if it was still there after the bombs went off, maybe Roadhog'd get a chance to pummel some brutes while Jamie provided some background music of the _percussive_ variety.  
  
Giving Hog's belly a nudge with a steel elbow, he mimed _kaboom_ and thumbed open the safety on his detonator. Hog said nothing. Pulled out his scrapgun.  
  
"Remember, remember... eh... what was I supposed to remember?" Jamie thought, turned up nothing, shrugged. And punched the detonator.  
   
__  
  
Jamie's childish demonic laughter rang out over the sound of the explosion, made larger than it was by the echoing steel throat of the Thunderdome. Mako felt the blistering heat on his back and shielded Jamie from it, pointing the scrapgun at the woman six paces ahead of them. She shrieked and clapped her hands over her ears. Jamie sprinted past her, still giggling, and Mako followed, covering their rear. The woman recovered and aimed the rifle at Mako's chest, her face a black mask of rage.  
  
The next volley of bombs went off, deeper into Gastown but close enough to throw her to the floor. Jamie clicked his heel-and-peg. "What a _lovely day!"_  
  
And then all of Gastown descended upon them, boiling blackly down steel hallways toward them like rivers of oil and flesh. Mako emptied his scrapgun into them. Jamie sent his riptire rumbling down the hall, plowing a furrow of bodies in its wake.  
  
The next round of bombs went off in an exquisitely timed _HOOM...HOOM...HOOM_ that they felt more than heard. The toepoppers Jamie had planted along the floor provided staccato accompaniment: _BAP BAPBAPBAPBAP BAP BRRRAP_. The screams of the wounded and dying completed the orchestra: twanging violins of agony.  
  
 At the end of the day, he had to admire Jamie's artistry.  
  
"D'you remember how to get out of here, Hoggy?" Jamie yelled over his shoulder as they fought their way down the hall.  
  
_I'm getting too old for this_ , Mako mused to himself as he cleared a brief space with his hook. He hoisted Jamie by the scruff of his neck onto the shoulder that didn't have tirespikes on it, he crammed the toploader onto his scrapgun, fixed the crank, and poured shrapnel into the screaming mass of bodies before them.  
  
They fell before him like wheat before a scythe, carpeting the hall.  
  
"Clear!" Jamie barked, vaulting over bodies. "Lessgo! The air smells a little less like your dunny this way!"  
  
Mako followed Jamie down the twisting hallways, feeling rightness in every turn Jamie made. They did not run into Gastowners in any great density anymore, and by the time the roaring halls spat them out onto Gastown's steel-and-sand porch, Mako had emptied his scrapgun and Jamie had used all but the smallest of his poppers.  
  
" _Ellotherematesplans'vechangedtimetogo!_ " Jamie whizzed past the bike and hurled himself into the tanker's cockpit, dumping the driver out the other door onto the sand. Mako mounted his bike and revved it into a throaty bellow.  
  
"Move out, now, go _ **go go!**_ " He roared, and the drivers jolted to life as if they'd been goosed by Jamie's pegleg.  
  
___  
  
The guzzoline rig's engine brayed its displeasure at being urged to RPMs it had never encountered before, but Jamie paid the mechanical scream no heed. He cackled and bounced in the threadbare seat, looking for all the world like a child at the wheel of his father's truck.  
  
The tanker and its entourage caromed toward the outer gates, having barely made it over the dropbridge that Hoggy had to, quite prettily, leap his bike over. Jamie ducked as gunfire from the second set of turrets blatted at them and swiped at the bullets as if batting away flies. "C'mon, mates, it's like you're not even _trying_!" he howled with laughter and noticed that the outer gate was shut.  He lashed the wheel of the tanker in place, swung out of the window, and, with all his might, flung his rip-tire at the flat steel bulk of the gate.  
  
"Fire in the hole, mates," he called back, and a second later, a throaty _THOOM_ swallowed them up in red heat and choking smoke.  
  
And then they were through.  
  
Jamie threw back his head and cackled as Hog drew up beside him. "Hey Hog, did you see tha--"  
  
As if yanked violently backward by his own chain, Hog and the bike blipped out of Jamie's view. He spun in his seat and caught a small spurt of smoke from a small pile of metal and man. A burst of icy panic bombed his heart.  
  
"Oh no you fucking _do NOT_ ," Jamie shrieked and pitched himself out of the cab. He flew along the top of the rig and used his last concussion mine to catapult himself across the sand to the wreck of Hog's bike.  
  
Mako was already grunting to his feet and scooping the sand out of his ears with a sausagey finger when Jamie--literally--rolled up, heart in his throat. He circled Mako, roving his hands over his body, looking for blood, sticky-out bones, missing anything. Back around to his front, Jamie stood on tiptoes, grabbed his shoulder-tire, and peered into the opaque black mask-eyes. "Oi, Mako, you all right, mate?"  
  
He gave a sandy thumbs-up.  
  
Jamie slumped with relief and drummed an affectionate beat on Mako's belly. "Right-o--"  
  
The oil tanker, driverless, dove headfirst into an open oil pit and bloomed into an explosion deep and red and hot as a supernova. The heat blasted Jamie arse-over-teakettle and even rocked Hog back on his heels.  
  
"Well," Jamie huffed, swiping sand off him and watching the rest of their "crew" speed off into the distance, "at least we have each other, right, Hoggy me Hog?"  
  
Roadhog heaved a great sigh.

Gastown burned behind them. Jamie gazed at his work proudly, hands on his hips.


End file.
